


Grip

by casual_distance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Masturbation, Minor pain play, Nipple Play, Rough masturbation, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6760333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casual_distance/pseuds/casual_distance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not until they’re crashed out in some hotel, three states away and a dozen hunts later, that it sinks in, that Sam remembers what he’d felt, that he thinks about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grip

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN Kink Bingo to fill the square “Mooseley”. My card can be [found on my tumblr](http://casualstories.tumblr.com/kinkbingocard2016).

“ _Deal_ ,” Crowley drawls and then he’s hooking his hand around Sam’s jaw, his thumb digging into the line of it, the blunt edges of his nails digging into Sam’s skin. He jerks Sam’s head down with ease- and it’s not like Sam didn’t know Demons were strong, but this casual pull sends a shudder down Sam’s spine.

Crowley has the same ash-and-sulfur taste that Ruby had had, but under it is the sting of whiskey and the slick of wax. His lips slide against Sam’s firmly, parting slightly. Sam jerks away at the first touch of Crowley’s tongue, the push of it hot and wet.

It doesn’t hit him then; he’s too concerned with Dean and the world ending and just needing some kind of _answer_. It doesn’t hit him that night or even a week later.

It’s not until they’re crashed out in some hotel, three states away and a dozen hunts later, that it sinks in. Dean’s out, gone for the night, the door slamming behind him. Sam chooses to stay in, and he stretches out on the bed, flicking the TV on and then off again a few minutes later.

He closes his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. He holds it then exhales slowly. He rolls his shoulders against the bed, shifting away from the spring digging into his side. He settles into the mattress again and relaxes. The room is quiet, the air conditioner off. It clicks once, runs for a moment, clicks off. Cars rumble past on the highway, the slow, steady rise and fall of their approach and departure broken by the occasional heavy rumble of a semi.

Sam draws in a deep breath. He holds it for a moment. He lets it out. He brings his hand up to touch his jaw. His fingers trace over the edge of the bone there, fingers curling slightly so that he can drag his uneven nails through the beginnings of stubble. He presses his thumb against his jaw, shifting up into the soft give of his cheek, then under into the taut skin of his neck. 

His lips part and he breathes heavily into the hotel room. The air conditioner clicks on again, and this time it continues to run. He wraps his hand around his chin, but that’s too high. He shifts his hand down so that the curve of his purlicue rests under it. He grips his chin tightly and jerks on it.

His cock jumps and Sam reaches down to press the heel of his hand against the line of it where it fills the front of his jeans. He groans out loud and presses harder. His fingers dig into his jaw. Sam’s head rolls back and his hips jerk up. The air conditioner cuts out and Sam hears his own moan echo back at him.

His eyes snap open and Sam sits up, yanking his hands away from his body. His heart pounds in his chest as he stares in shock around the room. It’s quiet again, except for his startled breathing. His cock is heavy and thick, trapped uncomfortably within the confines of his pants. Sweat dampens the back of his neck, under his arms, the back of his knees. His jaw tingles with the phantom touch of fingers digging in.

Sam leans forward, setting his elbows on his knees and dragging his hands up over his face and into his hair. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. He focuses on the way his lungs expand as he breaths in, on the contracting of his ribs as he exhales. When his heart has slowed, Sam leans back again, shuffling the pillow under his head. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling as he reaches down and unbuttons his jeans. He slides the zipper down slowly, adding pressure to feel the bite of the teeth against his cock. His eyes flutter shut.

He tugs and pulls at the fabric, just enough to work his cock free, letting it jut out the opening, the head catching damply on his underwear. Sam sighs and rubs his hands over his thighs. He spreads his legs and runs a hand inward. He drags his fingers up his inner thigh, then dips down to press across the stretch of his jeans, putting pressure against his balls. He groans and shoves his jeans down his hips far enough that he can tug on the cloth of his boxers, the give of extra material letting him pull his cock out through the front.

Sam strokes himself, tightening his fist until it’s almost uncomfortable, his foreskin rolling with the movement of his hand. The air conditioner clicks on again. The white noise makes this easier. Makes it easy to pretend the small grunts aren’t coming from him, that the increasingly wet sounds of skin against skin isn’t his cock in his hand. That the name that he mutters under his breath isn’t the one it really is.

He strokes faster and slides his other hand into the gap between his jeans and his body. He cups his balls, squeezes them gently, then harshly, just once, just enough to send his hips rolling upward. He presses back behind them with curious fingers, spreading his legs wider. He presses them in between his ass cheeks, the cloth of his underwear keep him from really feeling it. He presses harder against his hole, feels the muscle there clench against the pressure.

He pulls his hand away and focuses on the movement of his hand, curling his palm over the head, twisting on the upstroke. He’s never thought like this before. Never imagined a guy, never had a serious curiosity. He’d played before, explored more from a sense of obligation than real desire, but he thinks about it now. 

Sam lets go of himself to lift his hips from the mattress and push his jeans and underwear down to his thighs. His cock slaps against his stomach, leaving a damp patch on his shirt. He pulls it, exposing his abs and chest to the air. His nipples harden and he strokes his fingers over them, twists them, pinches them. He remembers Ruby doing this, biting down with delicate teeth.

Crowley wouldn’t be delicate, Sam thinks in the back of his mind, and he pinches harder, pinches with the flat of his thumb instead of the tips of his fingers. He cock jerks; precome oozes from the tip, smearing over his stomach.

The air conditioner clicks off.

Sam freezes.

Slowly he moves again, closing his eyes tightly. He pinches his nipples again and then twists them. His hips roll up, thrusting into the air, his cock bobbing with the movement. Sam wraps a hand around it and starts stroking again. He cusses under his breath; he’s so wet. It’s been a long time since he’s been this turned on, this eager for it.

His hand moves faster, hips thrusting in counter. He tightens his grip, twists a nipple. He grunts, the sound breaking through the high-pitched squeaking of the bed springs. He groans again, drawing it out, enjoying the way it echoes back to him. He pinches his nipple again, harder this time, hard enough that the sting lingers when he lets go and reaches down to squeeze his balls again.

His strokes are heavy and fast, heat building in his gut. Sam grunts with each thrust up, eyes still squeezed shut. He cusses under his breath and stretches to reach down again, fingers questing curiously. He ghosts a touch over his hole, then presses against the muscle. It clenches and he forces it to relax. He slips the tip of a finger in, as much as he dares, and the feeling of it, the want for it, the hunger he hadn’t known he’d felt, sends him over the edge.

The muscles of his stomach clench tightly. Sam curls up, body curving with pleasure as he comes across his stomach and chest. Sam groans as he strokes hard and fast, his come making his grip slick- wet. He can hear each stroke in the silence of the room.

The air conditioner clicks on and Sam goes limp. He relaxes back in the bed, hand curved over his cock, stomach wet. He cracks his eyes open to stare blankly at the ceiling. His shirt sticks to his skin where it’s bunched up under his arms. Hair sticks to his neck. Sam sucks in a deep breath and exhales noisily. He closes his eyes.

The bed dips. Sam jerks upright, eyes going wide. Crowley sits on the edge of the mattress, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded around his knee. He smirks at Sam, then leans forward and grips Sam’s chin. His thumb presses hard against the bone of Sam’s jaw. His fingers curl up, nails digging into Sam’s skin.

“If I’d known this was an option,” Crowley says, eyes dropping down to the streaks of come on Sam’s skin, “I wouldn’t have taken your soul.”


End file.
